


Dark Days, Cold Nights

by CatMoran (akaCat)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Dark, M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-06-24
Updated: 2000-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaCat/pseuds/CatMoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TSbyBS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Still Here

Why is he still here?

Sometimes I pretend that he's here because of duty. I've tried to pretend that it's because of his sense of loyalty, but that's just too much of a strain on my imagination.

I'm sure he'd tell you that I don't have an imagination. Or maybe he would... but that I use it strictly for paranoid delusions.

I hear him stirring upstairs, shifting under the sheets and making quiet whimpering sounds. He does that every morning, whether I'm in bed or not. I've learned to wake up and get downstairs first, it's easier that way. Easier on me, not that I deserve it. I'm not sure what he thinks of it, he's never said anything.

Yes, he still sleeps in our bed. But that's all. I only made that mistake once, while my leg was still healing from Zeller's bullet. His complete lack of reaction... it felt too much like an assault. I didn't have much trouble repressing most of my desire after that.

But I can't repress everything. I still need physical contact with him, I crave it. I try to content myself with the most hesitant or formal touches. In bed, the tips of my fingers will brush against his hips or back. In public, I'll place a hand on his arm as we examine a crime scene. I suppose he would permit more, but I'm afraid to ask.

For a moment all is silent upstairs. Then there is the sound of the covers being thrown back. He sits up, stretches, and makes his way slowly down the stairs and to the bathroom. Nude. His eyes shuttered, as always.

He's his old ebullient self with everyone else. He even feigns it with me, when other people are around. It's only when he thinks we're alone that I see that cold, flat stare directed at me.

But we work with detectives. More than once I've overheard people who've noticed how he looks at me. "If looks could kill" is the most common observation. They probably think they've spotted a minor ripple in the Sandburg-Ellison partnership. After all, we still have the best solve rate in the department. Actually, it's the best on the West Coast, now that he's on the job with me 24/7. I got 'Cop of the Year' again. They've never given it to a rookie, but he's sure to get it next year.

He walks past me again, on his way upstairs to get dressed. My view as he goes up the stairs is magnificent, but I would trade the chance to ever see his body again for one kind glance from his eyes.

I stand and take my coffee into the living room. If I didn't, he'd eat his breakfast standing at the kitchen counter. If it wouldn't cause people to talk, I'm sure he wouldn't eat with me in public, either.

I hear the closet door closing. He'll be back downstairs in a minute.

What weapon will he use today to remind me of the debt I can never repay? A perfectly timed, barely exaggerated cough? A red marking pen left on the kitchen table? Or a kiss... he knows I can't refuse him a kiss. He knows just as well that I can tell there is no affection behind his action.

I know why he's still here. He won't allow me to forget.

And I know why I'm here.


	2. God Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion piece to 'He's Still Here', Blair's POV.

God help me, I hate him.

And I don't know what I can do about it.

I hate myself, too. For being weak and making this necessary.

If I were stronger, I would just leave. Let him flounder, guideless, and save myself. He thinks he's been to hell before? Let him try to live as a sentinel who has been refused by his guide. There are parts of Burton's research that I have never shown him.

If I were noble and selfless, like the heroes of history and storybooks, I would die. The death of the guide is the only way I know to transfer the sentinel to a new guide. Incacha must have known another way, but I didn't think to ask him when I had the chance. Jim might know, but I won't ask him. If I do die, who will his new guide be? I don't know. His senses may just go dormant again, or a new guide may be available immediately. If he is very lucky, his new guide will be Simon. Or perhaps Joel.

See, I've come to a very unpleasant realization about the way Jim Ellison thinks. There are only two types of people he can trust and respect: people in a position of authority over him, and people who hate him. I'm not the first, so I have to be the second.

Sometimes my conviction wavers, but he's provided me with excellent fuel over the last few years. Anytime I feel the hatred falter, I only have to remember Alex. It doesn't matter that I once forgave him for that betrayal, it takes little effort to make the memory burn.

I hate 'them' as well. All the people who made him this way, men and women, throughout his life. William and Grace Ellison are first on this list. People he loved and trusted, who taught him the sick, warped lesson that he can't trust anyone who isn't using him.

Really, it's true. Let me give you an example.

The moment I declared myself and my life's work a fraud, I hated him with a passion. I was defenseless and surrounded by people who were about to tear me to shreds. Jim was at the station or out tracking Zeller, happily oblivious to the fact that my life was going down the toilet for him. And I suddenly realized that, as a person, he wasn't worth the sacrifice. As a sentinel, he was and still is; so as his guide, I went through with it. But as a person? He's frequently cold and hard to the people who care about him, unless everything is just as he likes. He returns hard work and sacrifice with lame jokes and primitive, territorial behavior. So I hated him.

And the moment he saw that, he became a completely different person toward me. Kind and thoughtful, he makes every effort to accede to my wishes. Frequently he seems to read my mind and does just the right thing before even I know what I want. But the one thing I most desire, he can't give me.

I want to stop hating him without losing his trust.

I think I'll kiss him today. It will devastate him. And just for an instant, too deep within myself for him to see, I can forget what we've become.

God help me, I still love him.


	3. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's POV.

-On a rainy highway east of Cascade-

I hate visiting him. I'm not sure why I bother; it's not like I care.

Strike that, I know why I bother. It's because of that damned promise I made to Sandburg. But for the life of me, I can't understand why *he* still cared.

I was frankly shocked when Sandburg agreed to be Jim's permanent partner. I saw how he acted toward Jim when they visited me in the hospital, he hated the man. I don't think anyone else noticed that soon; Blair did a good job of masking that hatred in public. Jim was more transparent, but it took a while for some folks to figure out *why* he was treating Sandburg with such deference. It was fear, plain and simple.

I think just about everyone knew the score by the time Sam returned from Tacoma. She'd left the department to work on her Master's. When she rejoined the Cascade PD, I guess she figured the only thing she lacked was Blair. A few people tried to warn her off, but she's the type who thinks that mind-games are the same as affection. The game was a little different this time though. This time, she was the pawn, and Sandburg was playing games with Jim.

I pulled Blair into my office once, asked him just what the hell he thought he was doing. Naturally, he told me that his personal life was none of the department's business. He finally told me why he was doing it. I'm sure he thought it was a perfectly adequate explanation, but I never understood the kid. I mean, it's pretty obvious that it would make Jim jealous; but he told me that he needed Jim's jealousy to fuel his hatred. Like I said, I don't understand it.

I guess it didn't work out the way Sandburg expected. He ended up in the hospital, but he didn't hate Jim. Far from it, he was upset with the doctors for reporting the attack to the department. I never saw the point in telling him that Jim had turned himself in.

Blair didn't blame the PD or the District Attorney for any of it. He said it wasn't our fault that he had perfect impressions of Jim's teeth in the wounds across his body and on his throat. Or that the DNA test from the sexual assault also matched Jim.

Between the evidence and Jim's confession, it was open and shut. The only thing to determine was the prison sentence. Because they're both cops, the judge decided to throw the book at Jim. Life, no chance for parole for 30 years. They sent him across the state to a prison near Spokane and placed him in solitary for his protection.

Blair followed him.

Before he left, he tried to explain to me that it was his fault, that he should have been able to guide Jim without needing his trust. I figure it was the usual battered spouse reaction. Especially when he told me that the real cause of the vicious assault was that he'd accidentally 'refused' Jim.

He never was able to convince me that it was all just a misunderstanding between sentinel and guide. Not that it matters. Whatever the reason, Jim is still guilty of rape and attempted murder. And I still made a promise to Sandburg that if anything happened to him, I'd watch out for Jim.

I shouldn't have made that promise, but I honestly thought it would never come up. Sandburg was only 31, and I'm a good 15 years older. But, he *was* a detective working on the streets, and most of my work is at a desk, now. According to his Captain in Spokane, he was one of their best. I'm not surprised, I always knew he'd make a good cop if he settled down a little.

Maybe I don't have to actually see Jim. Maybe I can just check with the warden, pull a few strings if he's not getting anything he needs. That should appease Blair's spirit, wherever he is.

After all, Jim probably won't know or care that I'm there. The last time I came to visit, to tell him that Sandburg had been killed, he barely noticed me. And according to the reports I get, he's pretty happy in solitary. He spends all of his time talking to an imaginary friend he calls Blair.

The End


End file.
